Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. No character in this story exists. The following contents outline a fantasy which should never be enacted in real life. All characters are of legal age. Political and ethical beliefs held by characters should not assume beliefs held by the author.
These works depict despicable acts. There will be consistent violation and lack of consent, and it will often be mentally and/or physically brutal. If that's your thing, welcome to the party.
Recap:
A new legal mandate requires selected women to undergo impregnation, while all other women are forbidden the privilege, in order to control the rate of re-population in the United States. Nineteen year old Erin is selected, and though her family had plans to smuggle her out of the country, her brother betrays Erin for the $100,000 in compensation promised by the government. He forcibly kidnaps her and drives her to Denver's Conception Center.
There's no need to detail the rest of that car ride. Suffice to say I suffered from dread and betrayal and anxiety. Mostly, I dwelled in a state of denial about my circumstances.
When we arrived at the austere and unassuming three-story building, a man came out the door to greet us. Lance rolled down his window as I flashed
Help Me
eyes at the stranger. He gave me one look, then proceeded to ignore me.
"Names?" he asked my brother.
"I'm Lance Tierney. This is my sister, Erin. She was picked in the lottery."
The man checked his list, made a tick mark. "Do you need assistance getting her inside?"
"Nah, I got her."
"Then please follow me."
Lance had to cut through the duct tape around the seatbelt buckle, but other than that, he made quick work of carrying me into the building, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Once inside, he set me down on my feet and pulled be back into a choke hold -- albeit, a looser one, mercifully. I was still bound at the wrists, ankles and knees, and there was still several layers of tape keeping a makeshift gag in my mouth.
We were in a reception room, much like in any other business, with a woman sitting at the front desk. She picked up her phone and said something quietly into the receiver as she stared us down. In short order, several men pushed through a door behind which a hallway stretched.
"That was quick work," said one of the men. He was middle-aged, as most of them were, and his eyes were cold. Indifferent, almost. But his tone of voice held a hint of amusement and a definite air of command. He seemed to be in charge here.
Lance shifted in a shrug. "Just how it played out."
"I take it she has... reservations about her assignment?" My brother looked a bit uncomfortable, but the man waved a hand dismissively. "That's not unexpected. That's the genius of the reward money, isn't it?"
It was obviously a rhetorical question, but Lance answered anyway. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"This one is Erin Tierney," interjected the man who'd met us outside.
"Erin Tierney," said the leader in a monotone, "in accordance with the law, you are listed as a participant at the Conception Center beginning at the confirmation of your identity. While here you will undertake your duty in providing new citizens to the United States of America." I could hardly focus on the words he was saying, repeating
no, no, no, no
over and over in my head, denial trying to protect me from the harsh reality of my fate. "Upon signing your consent you will receive only such physical treatment as contributes to the efficacy of your duty. You will be provided with comfortable living quarters, tasteful meals, and any such luxuries as you request."
There had to be some way out of this. They had to release me from this restrictive bondage at some point. My eyes shifted between the men in the room and then searched for exits.
Seeing my reaction, he continued, "Any attempt at violence against the staff and personnel at this facility, or attempt to flee the premises, will be considered an act against the mandate of federal law. This will result in incarceration until trial proceedings, which likely will result in circumstances far worse than the ones you face now. Here, after you sign the forms, you will be provided with comfort and accommodation, and a great deal more freedom than the state penitentiary offers. Do you understand?"
They all looked at me expectantly, and what else could I do but nod? I did so reluctantly because I was beginning to understand. Painful clarity was beginning to claw its way through my fierce denial. My life was over no matter what I did, that was the subtext of what he was telling me.
"You may release her now, Mr. Tierney," the man told my brother, who loosed his hold on my arms. "Best you stay while we confirm her identity, in case this woman is not who you claim her to be."
"She is," said Lance defensively.
The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Once we complete identification, we will arrange for your... compensation. We must follow procedure. Morris, remove the bindings on Miss Tierney's legs."
I could feel my knees shaking as the dark-haired man crouched by me and sliced through the tape holding my thighs together, and then the tape around my ankles. The rush of opportunity was invigorating, as if my body would flee of its own accord before my mind could talk reason. It took every ounce of self control I had not to book it for the door, only the lurking threat of prison keeping me from attempting an escape.
"Follow me, Morris. And you, too, Mr. Tierney."
Though he didn't address me in his direction, it seemed to be expected. Morris grabbed my upper arm and led me down a sterile-looking, white-washed hallway and through a heavy door. The sound of it closing was too final, too frightening.
Inside the room was a small table, no chairs. On top of the table was a small stack of papers and a pen, as well as a briefcase. The room itself was as clinical and austere as the hallway with bright, cold LEDs illuminating the space. In one corner of the ceiling, a camera shone a red light. I was guided to the table, at which point Morris was instructed to loose my wrists from behind my back. He did. My shoulders ached at the relief.
"It would be wise to leave the tape around her mouth. That won't be easy to get off and we are short on time."
"Of course, Richards," agreed Morris with a bland smile.
I was fuming. My nostrils flared. Fine. If they didn't want to do it, I'd do it myself. My fingers reached behind my head, searching for the raised indicator of the end of the tape, but the freedom of my hands was short-lived. Richards grabbed one of my wrists while Morris took the other and together they half-dragged me over to the table and secured me to it by a set of long-chained handcuffs I hadn't seen on the other side of it.
"This is just temporary, of course. Some women resist the identification process. Morris?"
Now that I was securely restrained -- the table was bolted down, I realized as I gave my arms a sharp tug that did nothing but hurt my own skin -- The man called Richards stepped closer to me. "Look at me, Miss Tierney." Whether he expected obedience or not, he gripped my chin firmly and turned my face toward him. "Green eyes. Auburn hair. Freckles across her nose."
Morris made marks on a clipboard.
"Erin Tierney measures at five feet, four inches tall," continued Richards, stretching a tape measure from the ground to the top of my head. "Estimated... one hundred fifteen pounds, give or take. Read additional identifiers, Morris."
"Birth mark on right breast measuring two millimeters, approximately five centimeters above the aureola. Tattoo reading 'choose joy' across the ribs, left side. Scar on left thigh, posterior, measuring three centimeters, approximately fifteen centimeters below the buttock."
I flushed at the intimate details listed out and the amused quality in Morris's tone of voice as he read them. But that was nothing compared to what came next.
"I will confirm these identifiers now."
Cold fingers brushed my waist as Richards abruptly grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted it. He stretched the back of it over my head like a hood, obscuring my sight and keeping it out of the way. "Mmmmhh!" I protested against my makeshift gag. The cloth, soaked through with my own saliva, muffled the severity of my cry. I jerked against the handcuffs again, panic lancing through me. "Mghhhhh! Mffhhgg hmmfff!"
Those cold fingers hooked in the cups of my bra and yanked them down until they rested under my breasts.
"Fuck," I heard someone say. My brother. God, how mortifying -- two strange men and my brother could see my breasts. My nipples stiffened to the cool air. I gave another weak, muffled cry.
"Birth mark confirmed. Tattoo confirmed."
Then fingers were at me again as someone unbuttoned my jeans. I couldn't help it, then -- I lashed my heel out, hoping it would connect with the man undressing me, though my foot made no contact. In retaliation, a hand gripped the back of my neck, hard through my stretched out shirt.
"I will give you one reminder, Miss Tierney. Any attempt at violence against me or anyone else here, and you face federal consequences. As you are here to provide your body in service to the government, this inspection is the least of the ways you will expose your body in pursuit of a better future for the country. Will you comply?"
It wasn't until I was standing there, breasts out, nipples erect, voice and vision obscured, arms cuffed to the table, that I fully understood my fate. Until then, I didn't feel like any of it was
real
. I did now. I was going to be impregnated, whether I wanted it or not, over and over until I was deemed no longer fit for purpose. I was going to give birth, undergoing excruciating labor, becoming a mother again and again for children I would never be permitted to raise. Something broke in me, then. My shoulders slumped and tears started streaming steadily down my cheeks.
"Then we will proceed."
I didn't fight as my jeans were unzipped and yanked down from my hips. They were tight enough that Richards had to give several rough tugs.
"Fuck," my brother said again, probably in response to my hot pink thong panties showing off my ass. If I'd thought I'd be here, instead of safe in my own home or on a plane overseas, I would have chosen something much more modest. I cried harder at the humiliation and despair.
